


Best friends

by Mysecretfanmoments



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:18:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysecretfanmoments/pseuds/Mysecretfanmoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every evening they walk home together, Kuro smelling of salt and suntan lotion, Kenma’s hands sore from scooping ice cream all day, and it feels nice. Peaceful.</p><p>He’s glad Kuro came, after all.</p><p>((During the two weeks he spends manning his uncle's ice cream booth on the coast, Kenma decides that maybe he likes his best friend back, after all))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best friends

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Лучшие друзья (перевод Best friends by Mysecretfanmoments )](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905152) by [castella cat (verbe_I)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbe_I/pseuds/castella%20cat)



> A gift fic for tumblr's mermanime (mermanime.tumblr.com), who guessed the number right on my certain-number-of-followers fic prize giveaway thingy! (This needs a better name...) 
> 
> To Jo and her beautiful white cat (who doesn't give a shit, because she's a cat, but hey) -- I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> The prompt was beachy kuroken (ish) but this mostly turned into PWP. *hides face*

He told Kuro not to come.

He tells Kuro not to come to things often, but Kuro rarely listens, and this time there’s the promise of the ocean, and the beach, and surfing, all of which ensure that his tall friend is determined to join him for the two weeks of summer that he stays at his uncle’s place on the coast. Kenma doesn’t really mind; it gives him something to look at while he’s manning his uncle’s ice cream booth, especially during peak hours when he’s not allowed to have his DS out. Every evening they walk home together, Kuro smelling of salt and suntan lotion, Kenma’s hands sore from scooping ice cream all day, and it feels nice. Peaceful.

He’s glad Kuro came, after all.

“With all the people I met today I think I’ll be able to get a beach volleyball group together tomorrow,” Kuro says. He’s walking with his hands in the pockets of his long swim trunks, a bag and a towel slung over his shoulder. He’s wearing a shirt again, now, though he doesn’t when he’s on the beach. “You could join us on your break.”

Kenma wrinkles his nose.

“Yeah, okay, that was a long shot. I should have tried harder to get you to come down to the beach on your day off.”

“I spend every day there. Why would I want to go on my day off?”

“I know, I know.” Kuro squints up at a palm tree waving in the stiff ocean breeze, its fronds pushed to one side “But I’m hopeful. We should spend a night at the boardwalk before we go back to Tokyo.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Kenma has seen the strings of lights, all the stalls and booths—he’s not sure he wants to go, but Kuro’s good at convincing him to do things he’s not sure he wants to do.

Kuro’s hand drifts to Kenma’s shoulder, his touch light. “Did you have a good day? You seemed pretty caught up at the end there.”

“Mm.” Kenma ducks his head. At the end, there had been a group of teenagers standing talking and laughing with Kuro, and his stomach had felt unsettled watching them. It was easier to bury himself in his game than to watch, and there had been no customers to help. “I finished the boring level.”

Kuro’s hand slips down his shoulder blade, just barely touching the small of his back before he retracts it. There’s a fond smile on his face, and this is the one area where Kuro never tries to convince him; Kuro’s never even talked about it, save for one time.

“You’ll tell me if you fall in love with anyone, right?” he’d asked. Kenma had been surprised for a moment, and then—he’d known, somehow, that Kuro’s like had shifted. There had been no urgency in Kuro’s question, any more than there was urgency in the way Kuro touched him, or looked at him, and Kenma had taken a long time to respond.

“Why?” he’d asked finally, though mostly he wondered, _why me?_

“So I’ll know,” Kuro said, and the day had passed uneventfully after that, the whole world just slightly different than it had been before.

But only very slightly.

“What about you?” Kenma asks now, drawing the old memory into the present. “Will you tell me if you fall in love with someone?”

Kuro looks at him, heavy-lidded eyes widening just a little before he smiles. “I told you already, didn’t I?”

 _Not in so many words_ , Kenma thinks, just a touch resentfully. Just because Kuro calls him the brain doesn’t mean he should have to do all the mental legwork himself. Then again, Kenma is fairly sure his friend used the roundabout confession for his benefit, rather than his own; Kuro’s not the awkward one in their friendship.

“With someone else,” Kenma clarifies, looking up. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged Kuro’s confession like this, and the taller boy has an uncharacteristic flush on his face. Kenma knows his own expression is neutral—no different than his usual, even if he _feels_ different—and he wonders if that’s off-putting.

Maybe he should be blushing, or something.

“I’ll tell you,” Kuro says, his hand coming up as if to touch him—but then it changes course to rake through his eternal bedhead. He smiles. “But it’s not going to happen any time soon.”

Kenma nods, and they arrive at his uncle’s house a minute later. The house is empty, his uncle gone for today and tomorrow, and for the first time ever Kenma feels a tiny thread of tension wind through him at the thought of being alone with Kuro.

“I’ll hit the shower first,” Kuro says as he shucks his sandals, sand spraying across the entryway “Unless you want to? I can start dinner.”

“It’s frozen pizza,” Kenma says. “I’ll manage.”

“Hmm. Set a timer, if you’re going to play while you wait.”         

The downside of childhood friends: they know you too well.

As it turns out, the oven has only just risen to temperature when Kuro comes out of the shower, wearing fresh clothes that look soft and loose and— _why is he thinking about what Kuro’s clothes would feel like?_

Kenma hands the timer to Kuro wordlessly before heading for the shower, preoccupied with his thoughts. He’s not used to feeling all that much, beyond a strong desire to go unnoticed, to get along with people, but today he’s been all over the place—or as all over the place as he gets. Maybe it was seeing Kuro surrounded by people that started this, except he _knows_ Kuro is comfortable with people. And he’s never been worried about Kuro leaving him for other friends; if he was going to, he would have by now.

So maybe it isn’t the unsettled feeling that brought this on. Maybe it’s the warmth he feels on their walks to and from the beach, the pleasant minutes when Kuro comes to check up on him, intent on helping despite being told by Kenma’s uncle that he isn’t allowed to. Maybe it’s the simple fact that Kuro always asks for green tea ice cream because—once upon a time—Kenma told him it was the easiest to scoop.

He’s fairly sure Kuro prefers strawberry.

“You’re taking too long,” Kuro shouts, and Kenma jumps. He’s been under the lukewarm water for over ten minutes now, and he hasn’t even tried to wash the day’s sweat off. He scrubs quickly before turning off the water and wrapping up in a towel. He forgot to bring clothes with him to the bathroom, and so he tiptoes to the bedroom wearing just a towel; Kuro barely even looks at him.

He wonders at that; aren’t people supposed to get flustered when the person they like walks around half-naked? Then again, he can’t imagine _anyone_ getting flustered over his naked form. There’s a reason Kuro doesn’t call him the muscle.

Did he want Kuro to look, though?

He dresses slowly, still a little dazed by the strange way he’s feeling today—the way it feels like it’s been building up to this, somehow. His limbs feel heavy with it.

By the time he shuffles into the kitchen, there’s a strong smell of tomato sauce and Kuro is using a pizza cutter to slice the finished pizza. He can see Kuro’s muscles working as he puts pressure on the cutter, his right shoulder higher than the left, his bicep bulging. Then Kenma’s eyes roam further, and he notices all sorts of things: the curve of Kuro’s throat under that defined jaw, how straight his nose is, the way his sweatpants hang loose on his hips. Kenma wipes sweaty palms off on his T-shirt, frowning.

Kuro turns. “You okay?”

He nods.

They eat in front of the TV, their backs against the couch. It should feel normal, and to an extent it does—there’s the ache in his hands from manning the ice cream stand, and Kuro smells of shampoo, and the room is warm and humid but not unbearable, thanks to the open windows and the ocean breeze—but Kenma feels aware of Kuro’s sprawl, and his warmth, and the way his clothes lay against his skin, and that’s not normal.

He can barely manage one slice of pizza.

“Okay,” Kuro says at last. “What’s with you? What’s with all the weird looks? And that question earlier?”

Kenma purses his lips, wondering if he’s meant to hedge. He decides not to. “I think I might like you back.”

“Oh?”

That’s not the way people respond when they find out the people they’re into like them back, is it? Brows lifting, surprise—but none of the glittery, blushy stuff. He can’t help thinking that Kuro’s casual attitude means—something. That he isn’t really into him? That he’d rather keep things the way they are?

“Does that change anything?” Kenma asks.

“Do you want it to?”

“If you want it to, maybe.”

Kuro draws his long legs up, props an elbow on his knee. “This isn’t a decision I can make for you. I need you to want it, too.”

It’s frustrating, having Kuro come at it this way. In movies and games, people give impassioned speeches to convince people into loving them; they don’t just confess and shrug about the whole thing. Again, though, Kenma has a feeling this whole approach is specifically catered to him.

It’s a tactic, he thinks, to get him to admit he wants something.

He moves slightly, so they’re facing each other. Behind him the TV’s still flashing, a gameshow playing on the screen—but Kenma’s tuned it out, hardly hearing the studio audience’s laughter anymore. Instead he’s looking at Kuro, wondering what to do next.

Kuro smiles, just a little.

“Have you done stuff like this before?” Kenma asks. He thinks he remembers a girlfriend, when Kuro was in his first year of high school, but he never talked about her.

“Stuff like what?”

Kenma glares, and scoots forward. Kuro is being obtuse on purpose, but there’s something in his face that stops Kenma from calling him out on it. He looks—hopeful. A little breathless. A little like he’s fighting a smile.

So Kenma reaches forward and tugs at Kuro’s T-shirt, lets his fingers touch just under the hem, over the taut skin of Kuro’s abs. Wordlessly, he lifts the shirt, soft in his hands—and Kuro raises his arms, allowing him to pull it off. There’s a definite flush on Kuro’s cheeks now, and the smile is gone. His mouth is open just a little, and Kenma can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

His very visible chest.

That Kuro doesn’t seem to mind him touching.

Kenma realizes that he’s been wanting to do this for some time—for the week they’ve been at the beach together at least, if not before then. He’s been watching Kuro, noticing him more because there’s no screen to look at, and his friend is—gorgeous, in a way. In most ways. All lithe muscle and liquid movement, which Kenma must have noticed before without really noticing.

He notices it now.

He could run his hands over the hard lines of Kuro’s body for a long time, he thinks, but then he sees Kuro swallow.

“Okay, not to stop you or anything, but if you keep this up there’s a high probability of boners. Well, boner. Mine.”

Kenma raises his eyes. He’ll get a boner, just from this? From touching? Then again, maybe it’s not the touching itself but the charge in the air around them, the hum from the TV and the breeze from the open windows. Everything feels just a little different, and Kenma’s not immune to it either.

“What do you like about me, in that way?” he asks. “It’s not just because we’re friends, right? What exactly?”

“It’s not an _exactly_ thing. I just do, but—” Kuro reaches, and his hand is gentle against Kenma’s hair, then his jawline and neck. He traces his fingers over Kenma’s collarbones softly, and Kenma feels his breath stutter. “This. I like this about you.”

 _Bone structure?_ Kenma thinks, and he assumes that’s the end of it, but then Kuro’s hands drop down to his elbows and slide down to catch his hands, lifting them to his face. “This,” he says, his breath gusting over Kenma’s knuckles.

“And then—” Kuro glances up and—upon receiving a flustered nod—reaches out, leaning forward to place his hands around Kenma’s waist. He looks at his hands, seeming caught up in the sight of them, then his eyes rise to meet Kenma’s. “This. I like how this looks. I imagine it a lot. Sort of pervy, right?”

Kuro’s smile is just a little self-conscious, and Kenma shakes his head. He feels the hands around his waist loosen, and grabs Kuro’s wrists to keep them there.

“I don’t mind.”

“You don’t mind, or you want me to?”

He sighs and places his hands on Kuro’s shoulders, walking forward on his knees before slinging a leg over Kuro’s lap. Gold eyes blink up at him.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“I think so. Is it working?”

“Hmmm.” Kuro leans forward, his arms wrapping around Kenma’s back and shoulders, his face nuzzling into the crook of Kenma’s neck. He takes a deep breath. “Yes. I think so. Definitely.”

Kenma smiles. If it weren’t for the fact that his friend is half naked, this wouldn’t be so different from usual. Well—minus the straddling, too, but it’s not unusual for Kuro to drape himself around him, to touch and nuzzle, albeit a little less obviously. He’s fallen asleep with his head on Kenma’s lap more often than Kenma can count.

Kenma slides his hands into Kuro’s hair, which is softer than usual after his shower. There’s a more subtle smell beneath the scent of shampoo, too, and Kenma wonders if it’s deodorant or Kuro’s natural smell. Either way, he likes it—though he thinks he might like doing this with Kuro straight off the beach, too, when his skin is still sticky with salt. Has he been fantasizing about that, too?

Maybe. It doesn’t feel like a new thought.

“Hey,” he says, conscious of the arousal low in his abdomen, the strange, restless feeling in his limbs. “Let’s do it.”

Kuro pulls back, glaring a little. “Maybe _you’ve_ just decided you’re into me, but I’ve liked you for over a year. Have some consideration.”

Kenma blinks. “What, like say I love you and stuff? I didn’t know you were into that.”

“You’re my best friend, you know. I don’t want to just make out with you once.”

Something inside of him squeezes, just a little. He knows Kuro is loyal, but this sounds like it goes beyond that.  “It’s not like I’d do it with anyone else,” he says, feeling a prickle of guilt. He didn’t think Kuro was this into him, somehow, because he’d never pushed the issue.

“Mm. So it’s only me?”

“My one and only,” Kenma says a little sardonically, because it’s true. The only friend he’s ever made without Kuro there is Shouyou, and Shouyou is a category of his own. “Are you one of the jealous types? Because I’ve played enough Boys’ Love games to—”

“Ugh, only you would admit that so casually—”

“They’re funny. You said so yourself.”

“Okay, fine. They’re funny. And yeah, of course I’m going to be jealous if you fall for someone else.”

Kenma shifts a little. “So I won’t.”

“Okay,” Kuro says, and his smile this time is softer. His gaze drops to Kenma’s lips, then, and Kenma knows a second before it happens that he’s about to be kissed for the first time. There’s time to gasp in a breath, and then Kuro’s mouth is on his, gentle but firm, and large hands are sliding up his back and into his still-damp hair.

Kenma makes an involuntary noise when he feels Kuro’s tongue flick against his lips. Heat coils low in his body, his palms sweaty against Kuro’s chest, and he opens his mouth just a fraction, eager for more.

Predictably, Kuro tastes of the pizza they just ate—but Kenma’s mind doesn’t linger on the flavor for long; it’s too busy cataloguing all the new sensations: the slide of Kuro’s tongue against his, the brush of teeth against his lip, how Kuro’s hips move in time with his mouth. It’s unconscious, Kenma thinks—he doesn’t think Kuro means to be this forward—but it’s distracting, the way Kuro is all lazy movement beneath him, flowing smoothly. He feels like he might drown in it, and he pushes Kuro’s shoulders. Kuro pulls back immediately.

“You’re good at this,” Kenma says, his tone accusatory.

“Is my precious Kenma jealous?”

He doesn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at the _my precious Kenma_ —it’s typical Kuro—and he knows he’s _not_ jealous, because he wasn’t interested at the time, but he does wonder why Kuro never talked to him about his romantic experiences.

Maybe because he never asked.

“The girlfriend first year?” Kenma asks, at long last.                

“You remember her?”

“Not really. I just remember you had one.”

“Well, then, yeah. And others. Apparently I have one of those faces?”

Kenma frowns in confusion.

“You know. One of those quickie-behind-the-shed faces.”

“I… don’t think there’s a face for that.”

“That’s because we’re destined,” Kuro says, as if it’s not the cheesiest thing in the universe to say. “All you see in my face is love and devotion, right?”

Kenma snorts. “You’re ridiculous. Are you going to be like this from now on? It’ll get annoying.”

“I’ve always been like this,” Kuro says, and presses a soft kiss to the side of Kenma’s mouth. “Want to go upstairs?”

Suddenly, it feels like all the air in the room is gone. He wonders if Kuro can hear his heartbeat over the noise from the TV, because he thinks he can—or maybe he can just feel it, drumming in his chest, his wrists, his throat.

He ducks his head in a nod.

Kuro doesn’t put him down. Instead, he rolls onto his feet, leaving Kenma to cling on like a confused koala. “I can walk—”

“Really? Of all the times I’ve carried you to bed, _now_ is when you complain?”

The indignation in Kuro’s voice seems off, and Kenma leans back a bit as Kuro begins to walk up the stairs, steps careful. His friend’s face is flushed, and Kenma raises his eyebrows.

“This is a fantasy of yours, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

Kenma settles back down, letting himself be carried. He’s always known Kuro was a sap, but not the extent of his sappiness. Normally Kuro passes it off as a joke.

It’s obvious from his flushed face that it’s not a joke.

They make it up to the guest room, where Kuro flicks on the lights and steps over the futon he’s been sleeping on to place Kenma on the bed. There’s a breeze from the window over it, and Kuro draws the curtains closed.

They continue to flutter above the bed.

“What?” Kenma asks, when Kuro stays hovering over him, looking down. His impatience lessens when he glances down and sees the jut of Kuro’s hipbones over the waistband of his sweatpants, the soft hairs running down from his navel. Kenma has to swallow at the sight.

He’s not used to seeing Kuro the way others must see him. Most of the time, he’s a warm presence—home.

How long has that been shifting?

“Can I take your shirt off?” Kuro asks, and Kenma nods, lifting his upper body a little so Kuro can pull the shirt off him. The breeze from the window cools his warm skin immediately.

Kuro bends down to press kisses to his neck, his collarbones, his chest. His breath tickles just a bit, but Kenma doesn’t protest. He feels himself push up to make contact with Kuro’s body, but as soon as he does Kuro stills.

Glassy-looking eyes find his. “When you said _let’s do it_ , you were being metaphorical, right?”

“How is _let’s do it_ metaphorical?” Kenma asks. It’s a little embarrassing to hear his words again, but he stands behind them. He feels sort of impatient, now that the mood’s struck him. And Kuro obviously wants to.

“That was your first kiss, though, right? It seems sort of messed up to have both in one night.”

“You know I don’t care about that stuff,” he says. He’s never felt much impatience for reaching the milestones others look forward to or dread. He’ll hit them when he hits them. If he hits them.

He feels like hitting a few, today.

“I’ll bottom,” he says, because it seems like less effort. It’d be embarrassing to be the one in charge when he has no idea what he’s doing.

Kuro slumps against him. “How are you like this? People don’t go from first kiss to anal in one night, you know.”

“What? It’s with you, so it’s fine. I know you brought stuff.”

“ _What? Why didn’t you say anything?_ ”

“I didn’t think it mattered.” Kenma shrugs, though it’s awkward lying down. He didn’t mean to see anything, but Kuro’s bag had been open on the first day, and he’d seen a foil packet. He’s still not sure whether Kuro brought condoms with him with him in mind or other people—strangers he might meet on the beach—but Kenma told the truth: it doesn’t matter, not to him.

He wriggles a little, hoping it’ll drag Kuro out of his embarrassment. “Please? I want to.”

Kuro puts his weight on his elbows and stares down at him. “Okay. But I warn you, it’s going to be the best first time ever. I’m going to take it so slow you might have grandchildren by the end of it.”

“I don’t think that’s how anal works.”

“ _Shhh_.”

Kuro leans off the bed and drags his bag closer by the strap, shaking his head. “Still can’t believe you’d see that and say nothing. I guess I like that about you, though.”

 _That’s good_ , Kenma thinks, because he doesn’t think he could change that about himself even if he wanted to. He hates embarrassing people, and confronting them—even Kuro.

When Kuro hovers over him again, looking torn, Kenma lifts himself up, pushing at his tall friend until he lets himself fall against the bed, questions in his eyes. He’s pretty sure Kuro’s being hesitant out of concern, and this isn’t the sort of first time he wants to have. He sort of wants it—rough. At least a little. He wants to see those muscles bunching and the look on Kuro’s face.

He lifts himself over Kuro, arms and legs spread, and there’s a flush in Kuro’s face again as he looks up—a pleased flush, it looks like.

Kenma doesn’t ask for permission; he just starts going down Kuro’s body, letting his mouth run past the skin he’s been seeing constantly for the past few days—imagining salt, and warmth, the way Kuro’s body must taste when he’s surfing. He traces a finger down Kuro’s hipbones, swallowing a little, his eyes on that thin trail of hair again—a straight shot from Kuro’s navel to his crotch, getting darker as it descends. When he gets down to Kuro’s waist he tugs his sweatpants down. There’s a bulge in the black boxer briefs Kuro’s wearing, and the sight of it makes Kenma’s heart speed up.

He kneels between Kuro’s legs, reaching for his hips again—letting his hands wander back to cup Kuro’s ass before coming to the front and—with a self-conscious glance up at Kuro’s face—tracing the shape of Kuro’s dick with his fingers.

Kuro lets out a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper—a sound that goes straight to Kenma’s crotch, and he’s a bit embarrassed to be just as susceptible to these things as other human beings are—but doesn’t tell Kenma to stop, and Kenma doesn’t, his hands moving more confidently, feeling out the shape of Kuro’s erection. He feels moisture leak through the black fabric, and swallows again. He knows what he wants to do next, and so he does, retracting his hands and moving up to slot his hips against Kuro’s, sliding against him experimentally.

Kuro’s hand clamps down on his ass, keeping him there while Kuro jerks up against him. Kenma’s breath hitches, and the next thing he knows Kuro has rolled them, and his hips are moving again, and he can feel Kuro’s erection moving against his own, hard and unusual but _nice_ —feels better than his own hand, even though it’s clumsy.

 _Well, of course it does_ , Kenma thinks a little dazedly. _Otherwise people wouldn’t be so obsessed with it; they’d just sit around masturbating all the time._

A moment later, Kuro’s mouth has caught his in a kiss, and that’s clumsier, too, this time—he feels teeth, and Kuro’s tongue is forceful enough to steal his breath, but it’s exactly what Kenma wants. He feels himself being reduced to a gasping mess when Kuro’s hand descends to the front of his pants, feeling him through the fabric.

“I’m taking these off,” Kuro says, drawing back, and Kenma nods a few times, fast. He wants to cover his eyes as Kuro lays him bare, but then he catches sight of Kuro’s expression, and it’s—hungry, or something. Kenma isn’t exactly confident when it comes to his body, but the way Kuro looks at him makes a lot of things right.

Kuro’s hands roam over him—his stomach, his erection, his ass, between his legs—and Kenma feels his body quiver. He could come just from the dry touch of Kuro’s fingers, probably, but he’s attached to the mental image from earlier: of Kuro straining above him, his thick arms caging him in.

“Don’t do too much,” Kenma says, when he feels his balls tighten with an orgasm he doesn’t want to have yet. “I’ll come before we start if you touch me too much.”

Kuro nods, and he reaches into the bag next to the bed, surfacing with a tube in his hand. He squirts a portion onto his fingertips, not looking at all nervous about it.

“Have you done it with a guy before?” Kenma asks, hoping that—if the answer is yes—he doesn’t know the person.

Kuro raises an eyebrow. “Are you doubting my skills?”

“No, you just seem to know what you’re doing.”

He shrugs. “No. But you imagine a thing often enough, and you sort of get a feel for it.”

Kenma feels a flush creep across his chest. “You imagine this that often?”

Kuro grins. “More often than I’d like to admit. Hey, you zone out a lot. I get bored.”

“Noted.”

Before he moves his slicked fingers to Kenma’s hole, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Let me know if you need me to stop, or need a break. Or if I’m going too fast.”

Kenma’s body aches to be touched—stopping is the last thing on his mind. “You’re going too slow,” he says, knowing he sounds like a spoiled brat.

He feels Kuro’s fingers against him a moment later, and his body jolts a little. Kuro trails kisses along his jawline, soft and plentiful, his fingers barely moving—and Kenma feels himself relax.

“You okay?”

Kenma nods, arching up, and Kuro seems to get the hint. He lets his free hand curl around Kenma’s erection, which doesn’t exactly _relax_ him, but it evens out the feel of Kuro’s slick fingers against his ass—and then he feels one slip inside, and he gasps.

Well, now he knows how that feels. It feels—nice, around the entrance. A little tight.

“Aren’t you supposed to play with my nipples?” he asks, because somehow the not-talking thing is not working for him—a definite first.

“This isn’t a boys’ love,” Kuro says, though he slots his mouth over Kenma’s nipple accordingly, and wriggles his finger some more, moving it all around. Kenma finds himself pushing down onto Kuro’s hand, wanting more.

Kuro draws the finger out, and Kenma’s about to complain when he hears the sound of the lube bottle squirting again.

 _Wait_ , he thinks, suddenly worried. He’s _definitely_ not stretched enough to take Kuro’s dick in the ass—he’s at least ninety percent sure, from the things he’s watched and read—but then Kuro’s fingers are there again, and two of them slip inside, slicked up, and he remembers that Kuro said he’d take it slow.

That’s good, because the two fingers are a little much. He whines.

“It’s okay,” Kuro says, in the voice he uses when Kenma gets overwhelmed in public, when he draws him aside and talks him through it. “I’m gonna get you there.”

Kenma wishes he could articulate how good it feels to hear him say that—how he feels weirdly vulnerable right now, in a new and not wholly unwelcome way, but the words swim in his head in no particular order, and scatter completely when Kuro’s fingers curl into him.

He shudders.

“That was it, huh?” Kuro sounds pleased.

“G-go slow. It’s a lot.”

Kuro’s fingers go back to scissoring, only occasionally hitting the outsides of the spot, where it’s less sensitive, and Kenma feels an ache build up in him—a want for more. He can feel precum leaking onto his stomach, and gasps when Kuro circles the head of his erection with it.

 _Don’t come don’t come don’t come_.

“Kenma? You okay?”

“More,” he says, embarrassed by how breathy he sounds. Another slicked finger later, he’s writhing, and this time it’s not an ache for more he feels.

“We’ll go for as long as you need to get ready,” Kuro says. “Have I mentioned how much I’m enjoying this?”

Kenma glares at him—at his ability to talk normally, and Kuro must see the suspicion in Kenma’s glare because he raises up a little higher, giving Kenma a view of his black underwear, stretched to the max. When Kenma reaches to touch Kuro’s erection through the tented fabric he feels the wetness there, more than before, and grows a little less resentful. Kuro really is enjoying it—a lot. He shivers at Kenma’s touch, even, biting his lip—which is cute and hot at the same time, and is this _really_ the same guy who got stuck climbing a fence in their neighborhood when they were eight?

Kenma draws his hand back, and Kuro settles back down, fingers still moving. Eventually, the ache of being stretched wide recedes, allowing Kenma to feel the ache in that other place again.

“I’m ready,” Kenma says, hoping he can be trusted with this decision. He’s not thinking that clearly, but he _feels_ ready.

“You want the D?”

“Get out.”

“I’m confused—I thought you wanted me to get—”

Kenma kicks him before he can finish the sentence. At least he can be sure this is the real Kuro, and not some smooth imposter. The tension in the air lets up some, and Kuro draws his fingers out.

That feels weird, too, the loss of him.

He watches as Kuro pulls his own underwear down at long last, and feels a spike of want at the sight of him exposed. He looks gorgeous, _actually_ gorgeous, and Kenma isn’t sure if he feels jealous or aroused. How many guys look that good naked?

“Like what you see?” Kuro asks, but he’s blushing and his voice hitches and Kenma wonders how he could possibly think anyone would _not_ like what they saw in his position.

“Stop fishing for compliments.”

“Taking that as a yes,” Kuro says, as he sits back on his heels to rip open the condom packet. He puts it at the tip of his cock and unrolls, and Kenma swallows with some difficulty.

“It was a yes,” he says, and then Kuro is rubbing lube all over the condom, and then he’s getting into position over him, and Kenma sucks in a breath when he feels him at his entrance.

“Are you sure?” Kuro asks.

“ _Yes_.”

He feels Kuro push into him, inch by inch, slower than a crawl. Kuro’s face is against his shoulder, and it feels so strange that they’re doing this— _actually_ doing this—but it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.

 _Kuro’s dick is inside me_ , he thinks, vaguely, wondering if it’s this strange for people who didn’t grow up together. He has all these memories of Kuro, good ones and bad, and he’s not entirely sure how those led up to this.

He places his hands on Kuro’s shoulders gingerly, before letting them slide up into his hair. _Is this weird for him too?_

“You… okay?” Kenma asks, their roles suddenly reversed. Kuro’s hardly moving.

“This feels so different,” he says, after a moment.

“What, anal?”

“No—well, yeah, but—you.” Kuro lifts up a little, and then they’re making eye contact—and yep, it’s definitely weird to make eye contact with Kuro while his dick is inside of him—and Kuro’s face is in full-on sap mode. “You do like me, right?”

“Do we need to do this now?” Kenma asks, a little desperately, and sees Kuro’s eyes lower. Quickly he adds, “Yes, I like you. A lot.”

That seems to be the right answer. Kuro’s eyes meet his again, and without breaking eye contact Kuro moves his hips until he’s in up to the hilt. Kenma has to look away, swallowing hard. It feels so full, with Kuro inside of him.

When Kuro moves and his dick grazes the spot, it feels just right.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, his legs clenching around Kuro’s hips. That was good, that was—

Everything goes a bit fuzzy, but he thinks he feels Kuro’s teeth against his neck, and every slow roll of Kuro’s hips. His body shudders with it, overwhelmed already, feeling like it’s on the brink of orgasm—but not tipping over the line, yet, even with Kuro wrapped around him, holding tightly, whispering things Kenma’s too distracted to make sense of.

“Kuro,” he says, an edge of panic to his voice, wanting to say a thousand things—uncertain what those things are. “Kuro, I need—”

Kuro’s hand comes between them, touching Kenma’s straining erection, and his mouth catches Kenma’s for good measure, like he’s covering all his bases. Kenma groans up into it.

It’s not weird anymore—just overwhelming and good and oh _shit_ he feels that thrust, he feels every inch where they’re touching, feels Kuro’s tongue press into him as surely as his cock does, leaving him feeling completely and utterly surrounded. He moans at the sensation, sinking into it, bucking into Kuro, his legs tight around Kuro’s hips.

“Kenma,” Kuro gasps, and there’s an edge of apology in his voice.

“Don’t go slow,” Kenma says, anticipating what he’s going to say. “Don’t go slow—”

His voice cuts off into a stuttering breaths as Kuro does as he says, thrusting erratically, and the wound-up-tight sensation in Kenma’s body begins to release with the new pace Kuro sets, pushing him past the edge. Between Kuro inside of him and the hand on his erection, jerky and uncoordinated but _so_ good, he feels himself fall, and fall, and fall.

He doesn’t make a noise when he comes, or he doesn’t think he does, because he’s beyond sound, his whole body roiling with the feel of his orgasm and it’s _definitely_ never felt like this before. Kuro’s free hand fists in his hair, and then Kuro’s hips are jerking forward without any of his usual grace, and he’s breathing hard into Kenma’s ear, and Kenma hears his breathing change—heavy, erratic, then relieved, shuddering.

His name is in there somewhere, too.

They fall back against the bed together, a trembling mess of limbs. Kenma can still feel his friend inside of him, and it’s weird, again, but he doesn’t mind it being weird if it feels like this.

He wonders if this will change things or if it’ll be like Kuro’s confession, where the world was slightly different after—but only slightly. He’s not sure what he wants, but he doesn’t think either option is bad—change or no change.

The haze in his brain is still there when Kuro pulls out, and he hears noises, but he doesn’t try to make sense of them. Above him, the curtains are still fluttering, the breeze cooling his sweat-slick skin. He feels a towel wipe off his cum-splattered stomach, then Kuro’s lying down next to him, and Kenma sighs.

“That wasn’t slow,” Kuro says, self-recrimination heavy in his voice.

“It was what I wanted,” Kenma says. He knows the perfectionist within Kuro is probably displeased, and so he says, “We can go slow another time.”

Kuro props himself up on an elbow. “Really?”

Kenma nods, surprised he needs confirmation. Kuro smiles slowly before laying back down. He drapes an arm and a leg over Kenma, back to his usual sprawling self.

“Just don’t get bored of me too soon, okay?” he says, nuzzling into Kenma’s neck.

“If I was going to—” Kenma begins, though it cuts off when he yawns “—I would have already.”

He closes his eyes. His whole body feels spent—an ache in his hips and legs to match the ache in his hands—but he finds himself looking forward to tomorrow, and the day after, and all the days he gets to spend with Kuro, on the beach or on the court. Anywhere.

He wonders what a slightly changed world will look like, this time.


End file.
